


Little Brother

by Tehri



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Balin and Dwalin are protective, Brotherhood, Brotherly Affection, Gold Sickness, Hurt Bilbo, M/M, Sad Bilbo, Thorin is an asshole, eventually, there is a happy ending, you know
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-28
Updated: 2015-05-30
Packaged: 2018-04-01 16:41:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 20,743
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4027204
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tehri/pseuds/Tehri
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Balin and Dwalin had never quite expected that they would come to care for the burglar chosen for the Company; and yet, they find themselves his self-appointed protectors against the dangers they face on the road, and against their own King.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Bolded lines = Khuzdul.  
> Because I was way too lazy to find the proper translations, and it felt like it would break the flow of the story.

There had been a reason to why the sons of Fundin had been the first to arrive at the home of Bilbo Baggins that evening, and it did not only have to do with them being the fastest to get there. Once Gandalf had let everyone know where they were to meet, Balin and Dwalin had silently agreed to get there before the others to test the waters, so to speak.

It was a simple concept, overall. Send in the shocker first, the tall frightening dwarf who looked as though he could snap someone in half with one hand, and see how their prospective host would react. If said shocker was treated with fear or was not allowed inside, there would be no point. If the shocker was treated amicably, everything would probably be alright.

So when Dwalin found himself staring down at a hobbit that was certainly not dressed for receiving company, he wondered vaguely if the small creature would slam the door in his face. But no, Bilbo proved to be very polite, even as Dwalin shoved past him into his home and brusquely asked where the food was. Even going as far as giving the dwarf the meal he had obviously prepared for himself.

And once Balin arrived, Bilbo’s polite nature seemed to simply shove his confusion to the side. The brothers kept a careful eye on him, even as they bantered with each other about the contents of the hobbit’s pantry and how they were going to arrange things in the small dining room. The poor Halfling looked as though he most of all wanted to shove them out the door and send them on their way, but not even once did he go beyond telling them that he didn’t know either of them and didn’t know why they were there.

“ **If this is to be our burglar** ,” Dwalin grumbled once the rest of the Company had arrived and gotten started on dragging all the food into the dining room, “ **I weep for how this quest will turn out**.”

“ **We cannot know for certain, brother** ,” Balin muttered. “ **Did you hear how he shouted at everyone coming after Fili and Kili? There’s some spirit in him, though he seems loathe to take to violence**.”

“ **Violence**?” Dwalin snorted and shook his head. “ **If that little thing has so much as waved a stick at someone, I’ll eat my own beard**.”

“ **The wizard seems to believe in his abilities** ,” Balin pointed out.

“ **But do we believe in the wizard**?” Dwalin asked dryly.

The shortest answer one could give that question was plainly “no”. And the confidence in the wizard did not grow at all at the evening’s end, when Balin overheard the hobbit’s conversation with the old man. Things had gone just as expected – Bilbo had refused and would not be joining them. The old dwarf couldn’t help but feel a small pang of disappointment at the thought.

“ **It seems we are to travel with bad luck, then** ,” Balin stated glumly as he joined his brother in finding somewhere to sleep. “ **Master Baggins does not wish to sign the contract**.”

“ **Nori is already taking bets on what will change overnight** ,” Dwalin replied quietly. “ **In case you wanted to know, that is. I hold no high hopes for the Halfling changing his mind**.”

That both of them cheerfully raked in the winnings of their bets the next day when Bilbo had finally joined them was not commented on by anyone, and no one noted the small pleased smiles the brothers gave each other.

 

The first day of rain caught them by surprise as they were just getting ready to start in the morning. Though the weather had been nice enough before, it seemed that nature was quite finished with being kind. Suddenly the sky was dark with grey clouds, and the rain was pouring down over the Company. Nobody complained, not even poor Bilbo; but it was painfully obvious that the hobbit was not dressed for this. He had been lucky enough to be under cover beneath a tree, but he looked utterly miserable as he lifted his pack from the ground. He stared at the rain almost as if it had personally offended him.

“ **I believe our burglar needs something to keep him from becoming entirely soaked, brother** ,” Balin said softly, giving Dwalin a small nudge. “ **Go on, you hardly ever use your spare hood and cloak anyway. You may as well lend them to him**.”

The white-haired dwarf smiled as his brother grumbled mutinously. And still Dwalin did not refuse, but fished out an old hood and cloak from his pack, dark green in colour, and stalked towards the hobbit.

“Here,” he growled as he shoved the bundle into the startled creature’s arms. “I’ve no use for them, and you are certainly the most ill prepared traveller I’ve ever set eyes on.”

Bilbo stared at him for a moment before giving a timid smile.

“Thank you, master Dwalin,” he said slowly. “But I’m certain I can make do without these. Besides, surely they are much too large for me.”

The large dwarf glared at him.

“Put them on,” he snapped. “Don’t argue.”

Balin forced back a chuckle as Bilbo hurriedly did as he was told, and then another as Dwalin gave a sharp nod and stalked off again. Poor Bilbo looked nearly like a child playing at being an adult in the oversized cloak. Still chuckling to himself, Balin walked over to the poor hobbit and patted his shoulder.

“No need to be frightened, master Baggins,” he said with a smile. “My brother merely wished to ensure that you would not freeze. For all that summer is here, it may get bitter cold with soaked clothes.”

“I didn’t expect it from him, is all,” Bilbo mumbled. “If you’ll pardon me saying, he certainly does not seem the type to lend aid to someone who only has themselves to blame.”

“And he isn’t.” Balin patted the hobbit’s shoulder again, giving a soft laugh at the look on the small thing’s face. “Some were less inclined to believe that you would join us, and thus some necessary information about what would be useful on such a venture was left out. The blame does not lie with you, and we may as well attempt to correct the mistake.”

And if Balin and Dwalin took turns that day to quietly make sure that their burglar was well enough and not entirely soaked and miserable, nobody apart from the three of them seemed to take any notice.

 

The Lone-lands were as quiet and empty as either of the sons of Fundin could remember from their previous journeys; no birds nor beasts deigned to show themselves until the noon of their third day in the desolate landscape. Bilbo, who rode beside Balin, had suddenly paused and tilted his head as though listening for something. A bright smile had spread on the hobbit’s lips, and he pointed up towards the sky.

“Do you hear that, Balin?” he asked. “Can you hear the lark?”

The dwarf frowned and listened. There was truly not much to be heard beyond the chattering of their companions, which was nigh impossible to tune out. But just as there came a lull in the conversation, his ears caught the trilling sound of a lark’s song.

“Your hearing must be quite excellent, master Baggins,” he chuckled. “I would not have known that there were either birds or beasts in this land if you had not pointed it out.”

The hobbit’s smile grew wider.

“My mother taught me to listen for other noises than voices if the land seems quiet,” he said. “She used to say that though a landscape seems void of life, it rarely is. It’s when you can’t hear birdsong that you should feel uneasy.”

“Then let us hope there will be no need to feel uneasy today,” Balin replied with a warm smile.

That particular evening, however, left a lot to be desired. Fili’s and Kili’s “joke” about the orcs had unsettled poor Bilbo, and angered Thorin. Even as Balin had attempted to explain to the lads why jokes about orc-attacks would only earn them ire, he could see the hobbit squirming where he sat, throwing quick glances over his shoulders and towards the darkness beyond the light of the fire.

“ **I don’t think I’ve ever seen the lads unsettle someone so quickly** ,” Dwalin rumbled once his brother moved away from Fili and Kili. “ **And only by speaking of orcs**.”

“ **He is no warrior, brother** ,” Balin replied with a frown. “ **But I should think that it will be good for him to learn that nightly noises do not necessarily mean any danger. He is able to pick out the sound of a singing lark even while everyone else is speaking as we ride**.”

“ **No doubt he will not sleep for fear of missing the sound of an impending attack, then** ,” Dwalin grunted. “ **You’re saying that he’ll need calming**.”

“ **Reassurance** ,” Balin corrected. “ **He will need a little bit of reassurance. Just enough for him to feel safe**.”

Poor Bilbo looked nearly embarrassed when the two dwarves placed their bedrolls beside his. Just as he opened his mouth to ask what they were doing, Dwalin cut him off.

“Just go to sleep, burglar,” he muttered. “You’ll want to avoid falling off your pony from lack of sleep tomorrow.”

“But… What about…” Bilbo gestured vaguely in Thorin’s direction. “I mean, after all that…”

“He’ll be alright, laddie,” Balin said softly. “An ill-advised prank bringing up bad memories, is all. No need to worry.”

“But he’s-“

“Get some sleep. There’s no need to fear, we’re all quite safe.”

Soon enough, Bilbo laid curled up under his blankets between them, fast asleep. The brothers shared a look, Balin smiling and Dwalin with his customary frown.

“I thought we would not need to keep an eye on anyone but the younger dwarves,” Dwalin muttered. “I did not agree to watch over a Halfling as well.”

“The others can handle themselves,” Balin sighed. “Fili and Kili are skilled fighters, for all that they do not control themselves, and Ori has his brothers to watch over him. Master Baggins is alone amongst us. We’ll watch over him when needed.”

 

Trolls. It had to be trolls. Of all the things that could happen to them on this journey, the first hostile creatures they encountered had to be _trolls_. Balin could hardly believe their luck when Fili came rushing back to camp, out of breath and with panic in his eyes, and shouted that there were trolls nearby and that they had Bilbo. Even in the sudden flurry of activity when everyone jumped up with weapons drawn and rushed off, the old white-haired dwarf couldn’t help but notice that he, Dwalin and Thorin had been the first to react. Any and all plans to possibly figure out a strategy were thrown to the wind the moment they reached the small clearing and saw Kili leap forward and swing his sword at one of the trolls. The battle had started, and there was no time to see if the hobbit or the young dwarf were unharmed.

The predicament that followed had not been an improvement to the situation. Some tied to a spit and being slowly roasted over a fire, and the rest tied up in sacks and struggling to free themselves. It had been a highly undignified situation, not made better by the hobbit’s attempt to correct the trolls on how to cook dwarves. There was a deep relief when Gandalf’s timely arrival saved them – at the very least no one had lost their lives in this encounter.

As soon as he had been released from the sack, Balin hurried to make sure that his brother was alright. Dwalin was red-faced from the flames and was growling like an angry dog, but he was unharmed. The white-haired dwarf breathed a sigh of relief and quickly scanned the group, searching for Bilbo. The hobbit, he found, stood off to the side with a rather pinched expression on his face as Thorin stalked towards him; Balin forced back a curse and followed.

“What in Mahal’s name were you doing?” Thorin snapped at the hobbit. “You were asked to bring food to Fili and Kili! Can you not even do that? Are you so intent on having us all killed that you cannot complete a simple task without fuss?”

“I didn’t cause any of this,” Bilbo answered, his voice sounding strained. “I brought your nephews food, as I was asked, and they told me that two of the ponies were missing.”

“Why did you not bring that to my attention?” Thorin snarled.

“I wanted to,” Bilbo protested. “I said that we should! But they-“

“Brushing off your incompetence on them does not make you look grander, Halfling!”

“Brushing off my- It was _your_ fool nephews who-“

“They would know better than-“

“Now, now, Thorin!” Balin placed a firm hand on Thorin’s shoulder, giving him a light shove, and quickly glanced at Bilbo, noting how the hobbit’s shoulders sagged a little as he exhaled. It seemed he got to them at a good time. “You know how Fili and Kili can get, and why would a hobbit go up against such large creatures out of their own decision?”

For a moment, the two dwarves stared at each other; Thorin was first to break away, growling as he stalked off. Balin heaved a sigh and turned to Bilbo again, finding the hobbit looking quite furious.

“He thinks that this is my fault,” Bilbo hissed. “He thinks that I acted out of… out of some misplaced wish for _grandeur_!”

“He was frightened, Bilbo,” Balin soothed, giving his friend a gentle smile. “We all were. To have Fili suddenly rushing into camp and telling us that there were trolls and that they had caught you… It unsettled all of us, quite badly.”

“Then why would he act like that?” the hobbit huffed angrily. “What exactly would make him believe that this is my fault, beyond the fact that I am not used to travelling? Does he consider me a bloody imbecile? I am not used to this life, Balin, and still I know a dangerous situation when I see one! Trolls are not precisely my idea of fun!”

“Nor ours.” Dwalin’s rumbling voice made Balin’s smile grow. “Some lash out when they worry, hobbit. Thorin is one of them.”

Bilbo’s eyebrow flew up towards his hairline as he turned to the large tattooed dwarf and crossed his arms.

“You’re saying he was worried about me,” he said flatly. “You’re actually claiming that Thorin Oakenshield, the dwarf who has yet to call me by my name or even say so much as good morning to me, was worried about me.”

“You’re part of the company,” Dwalin answered, his tone just as flat. “If you doubt me, remember that I’ve known him all my life. He worries.”

Bilbo huffed again and stormed off, grumbling angrily about “ridiculous dwarves”. The sons of Fundin watched him leave, sharing small smiles.

“ **That being said, brother** ,” Balin chuckled, “ **we may still need to remind Thorin to take his ridiculous nephews to task over this**.”

“ **Aye, that we do** ,” Dwalin agreed. “ **If the burglar doesn’t get to them first.** ”

“ **It was quite impressive, really. He thought fast.** ”

“ **Easy for you to say, you weren’t roasted on a spit…** ”

 

Rivendell was a trial for the Company. None of the dwarves were particularly fond of elves, though some were perhaps less hostile than the rest. Ori, who was very interested in the library, and Bombur, who really didn’t mind anyone as long as there was food, were two of these.

And then there was Bilbo.

Balin and Dwalin had watched with carefully hidden amusement how Bilbo looked around in amazement when they arrived, and in the days that followed there was no way of mistaking the hobbit’s contentment for anything else. Some of the dwarves were inclined to grumble even about this (“ _And if those weed-eaters steal our burglar, what then?_ ”), but to the sons of Fundin there was one thing that stood out among it all.

Bilbo Baggins, a hobbit of the Shire and the burglar of Thorin Oakenshield’s company, looked happier and more relaxed than they had ever seen him, and it was all because of whatever he could see in Rivendell and the house of Elrond Half-Elven.

“I don’t understand what you see in this place, burglar,” Dwalin growled one day when he found Bilbo wandering along a narrow path in the gardens. “You’re the only one who seems to like it here.”

“Apart from the elves, you mean?” Bilbo shot the tattooed dwarf a bright grin. “I find it soothing. There is something in the air that I can’t explain. It feels… Well, it feels timeless, nearly. For all that the Shire may be beautiful, I don’t think I have seen such a fair place as this in all my life.”

“If you think this to be fair, then you have truly never seen the halls of our people,” Dwalin mutters as he stomped along the path by the hobbit’s side. “They would take your breath away.”

“I’m sure they are glorious, Dwalin,” Bilbo laughed. “And I would be glad to see them one day. But for now, while I have the chance, I think I am content with admiring the beauty of these gardens.”

They walked in silence for a while, and the large dwarf eyed the hobbit curiously. He wasn’t used to small creatures such as hobbits; his first impression of Bilbo had certainly been less than favourable. And still the hobbit had surprised him and proved to be quite a good and loyal companion. Even with the business with the trolls, where he could have slipped away as soon as the dwarves came charging in, Bilbo had made the decision to stay and help however he could.

“You halflings do love your gardens, don’t you?” Dwalin asked slowly.

“ _Hobbits_ , master Dwalin, if you please,” Bilbo said primly. “I am not half of anything, I merely happen to be smaller than you. But yes, we do love our gardens.” He smiled again as a longing glint came into his eyes. “I miss my own garden at home. I don’t think you saw it, but it has the most wonderful flowers, and my little vegetable patch has always been well cared for. I won prizes for my tomatoes, you know.”

So the hobbit prattled on about his home and his garden as they wandered through the garden; and in the time it took them to return to the rest of the Company, Dwalin had learnt more about hobbits and the importance of their homes and gardens than he would ever have thought to ask.

“ **How did he seem**?” asked Balin when his brother joined him again.

“ **Content** ,” Dwalin answered. “ **Smiles a lot, talks more. Misses his home and his garden. Apparently he likes the gardens here.** ”

“ **That is to be expected, I should think, brother**.” Balin hummed softly and watched as Bilbo was drawn into a lively discussion with young Ori. “ **What else**?”

“ **He won prizes for his tomatoes back in the Shire. Five years in a row so far.** ”

“ **What**?”

“ **He spoke much of his garden. You’ll have to ask him about it if you wish to know more, I’ve no head for these things**.”

 

The road into the mountains was trying for all of them. While they had not particularly enjoyed the company of elves in Rivendell, they had been glad for a chance to rest; leaving the valley made them feel as weary as when they first came there. Thorin urged them to move faster than they had before, eager as he was to put some distance between them and the elves. But even he could hardly deny that they were all exhausted already when they found the path that led up towards the mountain-pass.

As they set up their camp the night before they were to move into the pass, Balin and Dwalin took the chance to have a word with the leader of the Company.

“We won’t get much rest in the mountains, Thorin,” Balin said softly. “We can’t keep this pace forever.”

“Unless you want most of us to fall over a cliff out of sheer exhaustion, that is,” Dwalin grunted.

There was a flash of annoyance in Thorin’s eyes. He knew they were right, and they knew that he worried for any possible delays.

“We cannot wait long,” Thorin grumbled. “We need to keep moving.”

“Yes, of course we do,” Balin said, keeping his voice gentle. “But we are all weary, Thorin, you must see that. Gandalf will catch up with us, and then we can move into the mountains with him in company.”

“We can wait here for the wizard,” Dwalin stated calmly. “It’s a good campsite. Dry, out of the wind. No need to worry for the weather on the heights either.”

It took quite a bit of wheedling to make Thorin agree with them, but once he did the Company cheered somewhat. A bit of rest would do them good.

“There is one more thing,” Dwalin said quickly when Thorin seemed wont to stalk off again. “About the burglar.”

Any lesser man may have flinched at the sight of the scowl Thorin now had on his face – but not Dwalin. The burly dwarf was too used to the sight, and to his old friend’s rapidly shifting moods. He knew very well how to handle it.

“What of him?” Thorin snapped, crossing his arms and glaring at the sons of Fundin. “What has he done this time?”

“Why do you assume that he has done something?” Balin asked.

“When hasn’t he?”

“He’s done nothing,” Dwalin interrupted before either of the two could continue. “What we wished to speak to you about is your behaviour.”

That made Thorin’s eyebrows rise to meet his hairline. There were really only two things that this could mean; either the dark-haired regal dwarf was unusually surprised, or he was just gearing up for a very furious tirade. His two companions exchanged quick glances before Balin held up his hands.

“What my brother means is simply that you have been unusually harsh,” the white-haired dwarf said quickly. “Where your temper would normally be milder than this and directed at Fili and Kili, it has been somewhat quicker lately and continuously aimed at master Baggins. We were wondering why.”

Heavy silence rested uncomfortably between them for a good while. Thorin glared at them as though he hoped they would catch on fire and run off screaming, but after a firm nudge from Dwalin he seemed to deflate somewhat.

“He is ill suited for this venture,” the regal dwarf grumbled. “I would rather have seen him refuse to join entirely instead of coming running after us. The others I can trust to defend themselves, but the Halfling? He will get himself injured, or worse.” He frowned and shook his head slowly. “I had hoped that perhaps he might change his mind. Remain behind in Rivendell, perhaps, and later return home. He is not made for this life, that much is painfully clear.”

“That, Thorin, does not warrant such harsh treatment,” Balin answered. “We already guessed that you worried for him, but your temper seems to discourage our burglar. Untrained he may be, but we do need him.”

Thorin only shot his old friend another glare before turning and walking away. The sons of Fundin glanced at each other and sighed.

“ **He worries more for the Halfling than for his nephews** ,” Dwalin said heavily. “ **Do you think there might be something else to it?** ”

“ **If there is, he will not tell us** ,” Balin answered with a shake of his head. “ **It would seem that we need to keep a close eye on his interactions with the burglar.** ”

“ **You think he may attempt to harm the lad**?”

“ **I do not know what to believe, brother. But if his temper flares again as it did after the incident with the trolls, there may be trouble.** ”

“ **I’ll watch over the burglar** ,” Dwalin decided. “ **You’d best keep an eye on our king, brother, and ensure that he keeps his temper in check.** ”

 

Dwalin did keep his promise; in the days that followed, he kept a watchful eye on the hobbit and made sure to step in and draw his attention elsewhere if it looked like Thorin was about to snap about something. All in all, the days when they headed into the mountains passed in relative peace.

That is, until the thunderstorm hit.

As the first drops of rain fell, many of the dwarves in the company grumbled – even if the rain was not heavy at first, it would certainly slow them down as they trudged on and slipped on damp rocks. Slowly but surely, the rain got worse, and by late afternoon the thunder rumbled among the hills and lightning flashed across the sky.

All of their plans had included possible trouble in the Misty Mountains. Thorin had never needed wizards or elves to tell him that it was a dangerous path, or that there were orcs and goblins that might ambush them. And still, nothing could have prepared them for the sight of the stone giants. Or the realisation that they were standing on one, for that matter.

Balin had to force back his despairing shout when he realised that his brother and the burglar were not with him. Even as he had leapt to safety on another small ledge along with Thorin, he swore loudly at the thought of Dwalin and Bilbo still being in danger. Then, as he struggled to his feet and looked up, he saw the giant falling, and how the leg that the rest of the company stood on came crashing down against the mountainside. For a brief moment, he could see his brother, his brave little brother, holding on for dear life and keeping a firm hold on the pale hobbit’s collar to keep him from falling. Then there was a tremendous crash, and all he could hear over the rain was Kili’s terrified wail.

Poor Balin could barely breathe as he hurried after Thorin around the sharp corner; relief washed over him as he caught a glimpse of Dwalin struggling to sit up in a pile of dwarves. By his side, Glóin called out to the others behind them that the group was alive. Then came the words that had everyone scrambling around in near panic.

“Where’s Bilbo?” Bofur asked as soon as he’d taken a look around. “Where’s the hobbit?!”

Worried that they may have lost the lad, Balin leant out over the edge to stare into the abyss before their feet, and gasped at what met his eyes. Poor Bilbo was dangling from the edge, holding on for dear life and desperately trying to find a foothold on the slippery rocks. He called out, and several dwarves dove forward to help. Ori and Bofur held out their hands to the hobbit, who tried to reach them even as he was about to slip.

Suddenly Thorin was there, a firm hold on the edge as he swung down and grabbed the hobbit, lifting him like a ragdoll into the arms of Bofur and Ori who immediately hauled him up. Balin silently promised himself that there would be no more adventures after this; the sight of Thorin narrowly avoiding falling to his death thanks to Dwalin was too much.

“I thought we had lost our burglar,” Dwalin grunted, giving his older brother a reassuring smile that the white-haired dwarf had to struggle to return.

“He has been lost ever since he left his home.” Thorin’s grim voice cut through the air, making the sons of Fundin blink and stare at him. “He should never have come. He has no place amongst us.”

Bilbo looked pale and harried to Balin’s eyes; the old dwarf waited until Thorin turned away to quickly step over and place a comforting hand on the small creature’s shoulder.

“Don’t mind him, laddie,” he said softly. “He doesn’t mean it.”

Bilbo gave him a tight smile, one that didn’t reach his eyes.

“I’m sure he doesn’t,” the hobbit muttered, though he could certainly not sound less convinced if he tried. “Some lash out when they worry, after all.”

As they set up camp in the small cave they’d found, Balin took the chance to speak quietly to Thorin; it seemed that the regal dwarf was in a spectacularly bad mood, firmly refusing to wait for Gandalf to catch up with them.

“Plans change,” he’d grumbled and stalked off to find his bedroll.

“ **We could knock him out** ,” Dwalin suggested when he heard the news. “ **Could claim a rock fell.** ”

“ **Absolutely not** ,” Balin hissed. “ **We’ve all been shaken up today, brother, it’s more than enough that we nearly lost both our burglar and our king earlier, not to mention half the company.** ”

“ **I don’t like the wizard any more than he does** ,” Dwalin muttered. “ **But the old goat is rather handy to have around sometimes. Surely Thorin must realise that.** ”

“ **He is rushing**.” Balin sighed deeply and shook his head. “ **I wonder just what he hopes to achieve by ignoring every warning.** ”

“ **It’s Thorin. We both knew he’d do this.** ”

“ **Aye, but that does not mean that I like it.** ”

“ **We can attempt to reason with his royal arse tomorrow, brother.** ”

Being woken up in the middle of the night by the floor giving way and falling down into the darkness and being captured by goblins had not been in that plan. Being separated from the hobbit had not been in that plan either.

 

Balin felt entirely convinced that he was becoming far too old for perilous journeys. First the escape from the goblin tunnels. Then the realisation that Bilbo was not with them. Then the hobbit’s return and the sudden appearance of Azog. And then Thorin’s quite frankly suicidal charge at the pale orc, and Bilbo’s valiant effort to save the dwarf’s life. And eagles. Really, to have an eagle carry you was an honour, but not one that Balin had felt very certain about. He’d spent most of the aerial journey wishing desperately that the eagle wouldn’t suddenly decide to drop him.

As they had limped down from the Carrock, Balin had noted how Thorin kept close to the burglar. Upon exchanging a quick glance with his brother, the white-haired dwarf noted that Dwalin did not seem very pleased with this development.

“ **At the very least our king seems to have taken a shine to the burglar** ,” Balin muttered once he walked beside his brother again. “ **That counts for something.** ”

“ **Merely a few days ago, he loathed the lad** ,” Dwalin answered. “ **I don’t like this, brother. I say we keep an eye on them. Or ensure that Thorin doesn’t do anything stupid.** ”

The rest in Beorn’s halls, peaceful though the area was, did little to soothe their minds. Balin did what he could to keep Bilbo busy, as Dwalin did with Thorin. The hobbit, however, caught on quite fast to what they were doing.

“Might I ask you something, Balin?” Bilbo requested one warm afternoon as he sat out on the porch with the white-haired dwarf. “Why precisely is it that you and Dwalin are trying to keep me from exchanging more than two words with Thorin?”

Balin gave the hobbit a long considering look. Credit where it was due, it seemed that the small fellow was not so keen on avoiding confrontation anymore; besides, if he was to be entirely fair, they _were_ in a sense restricting his interaction with someone he ought to trust.

“We are merely trying to see what his intentions are,” Balin replied, choosing his words carefully. “Thorin’s regard of people does not tend to sway with one grand gesture.”

“You’re saying that you’re suspicious,” Bilbo stated, his eyebrows rising. “You don’t think that his behaviour is sincere.”

“I don’t know what to think, laddie.” The white-haired dwarf sighed and shook his head. “To be fair, I don’t think Thorin knows what he’s doing either. I do not doubt that he has worried about you, that much should be clear to anyone who knows him well.” He frowned and peered at the hobbit beside him. “Thorin does not make friends easily, Bilbo. Never has. He doesn’t trust others unless he knows them well, and suddenly Gandalf insisted on that he should bring a hobbit, a stranger, on a journey to Erebor. On one hand, he certainly didn’t want you there, didn’t want to be burdened by someone who might not know what they were doing. On the other hand, he certainly wasn’t about to let you die in the wild, untrained and unarmed as you were. He has watched over you more than his own nephews, and I believe that this alone is a statement about how he saw you. Weak, untrained, unsuited for this venture.”

Bilbo spluttered as an angry glint came into his eyes, but he didn’t manage to say anything. Instead he turned away, crossed his arms and stared out at the garden. Balin smiled softly at him.

“As I said, it is how he _saw_ you, laddie,” he said. “And suddenly, there you are. A small untrained hobbit who has never wielded a sword in his life, standing between Thorin and certain death, even managing to kill an orc for his sake.”

“I killed one of the wargs too,” Bilbo muttered, patting his pockets in search for his pipe. “Though that was rather by accident.”

“And before Thorin was in danger,” Balin reminded him. “You were the first to act, Bilbo. Had the situation been different, it would have been Dwalin. But he would also have been too late. You were the only one light enough to climb back up on your feet that fast, while the rest of us struggled to just keep branches from breaking.”

A small pleased smile spread on Bilbo’s lips at that.

“But think of Thorin’s view of this for a moment,” the old dwarf urged. “All he saw was you tackling that orc to the ground, and when he woke on the Carrock, he knew you had saved his life. He has no idea why, and I believe that he finds your loyalty rather intriguing, given how he has behaved towards you.” He took a deep breath, hoping that what he was about to say would be taken the way he intended – as caution, and not discouragement. “Thorin may well be willing to see you as a friend, as a companion, Bilbo. But I’ve known him all my life, and I know that he is going to test you. He will want to know just how far your loyalty stretches. There will be a lot on your shoulders when we continue, laddie, and his expectations will be a great amount of that weight.”

The hobbit stared back at him, a thoughtful look on his round face. Balin noted that the words seemed to have sunk in and were being carefully mulled over. The lad had a keen mind, and while he was not used to the ways of dwarves, he would not think of this as a joke.

“I’ll be careful,” Bilbo said slowly. “But really, Balin. I’m not a fauntling. I can look after myself, especially when it comes to talking to people. If Thorin decides to test me, then let him. I’ll ask you or Dwalin for advice if I need it.”

They sat in silence for a long while, watching the garden and the distant shapes of Fili and Kili by one of the stables. Balin thought wearily of the next leg of the journey and what they would face. He had never travelled through Mirkwood before, though he knew that it had once been a glorious place and that light still touched it where the wood-elves dwelled in its northern ranges. But he felt worried, all the same; Thorin could only become more hostile than before once they were under the boughs of the great trees.

“I had meant to leave, you know.” Bilbo’s quiet voice broke Balin out of his reveries, and the white-haired dwarf turned his head to give the hobbit a sharp look. “In the mountains, that is. After the giants. I was just… I was angry. Frustrated.” Bilbo heaved a sigh and ran his fingers through his curly hair. “I think that what Thorin said was the last straw. I mean, after weeks of his hostile behaviour, how else was I supposed to react? On one hand, he was right. I _was_ lost, I _didn’t_ have a place in the Company except as extra baggage. But on the other hand, I was so _angry_ with him that I couldn’t stand it. He’d just saved me from becoming skewered on sharp rocks, and then he throws _that_ at me. He might as well have let me fall.”

“Absolutely not,” Balin said. The words came out harsher than he had intended them, and he mentally berated himself for this as he saw his friend wince. “No, Bilbo, he was right to save you then,” he continued with a softer voice. “I cannot continue to excuse his behaviour by saying that he was frightened. What he said to you up on that cliff was entirely uncalled for, and while I would have been sad to wake and find you gone, I wouldn’t have blamed you for wanting to leave. But I must ask you not to say that he should have let you die.”

“It wasn’t fair. He wasn’t wrong, but it wasn’t _fair_ of him to target me, especially not when he _knew_ I wouldn’t be able to say anything.”

“No, indeed it wasn’t. And this, laddie, is why I ask you to be careful. Dwalin and I will be having words with him very soon, but Thorin is his own dwarf. Don’t let him push you around. And don’t let him target you like that again.”


	2. Chapter 2

For once on that journey, Thorin did not seem annoyed when he was cornered by Balin and Dwalin. It was the last evening they spent outside the forest, and though they would not enter Mirkwood until the afternoon of the next day according to Gandalf, the atmosphere in the camp seemed tense.

Thorin had kept a quiet conversation with Bilbo when Dwalin interrupted them and asked for a word with the leader of the Company. At Bilbo’s questioning look, the burly dwarf simply shook his head slightly and led Thorin away.

“What is it this time?” Thorin asked quietly when they were out of earshot and Balin had joined them. “Do you have something you feel I need to know?”

The sons of Fundin exchanged quick glances.

“We do, actually,” Dwalin rumbled. “And you already know what it’s about, don’t you?”

“The Halfling,” Thorin answered, still keeping his voice quiet.

“Hobbit,” Balin corrected. “But yes, it is about him. More specifically, it is about how you have treated him.”

The regal dark-haired dwarf sighed deeply and rubbed his hand over the back of his neck.

“What of it?” he muttered. “As far as I am aware, I have been nothing but kind to him since the Carrock.”

“We mean before that, you berk,” Dwalin grunted. “Or did you forget what you said to him? ‘ _He has no place amongst us_ ’, wasn’t that it?”

“Again, what of it?”

“Are you going to pretend that never happened?”

“He has not brought it up when I’ve spoken to him. Why should I?”

“You’re doing it again, Thorin,” Balin said sharply. “This is precisely what happened with Fili’s and Kili’s father. Once Fili was born, you suddenly pretended that you had never disliked him. The world is not all mithril and gemstones simply because you behave like it, and people won’t forget that you’ve treated them badly.”

“Bilbo has not said anything,” Thorin persisted, crossing his arms and levelling a distinctly cross look at his old friends. “We made our peace after the eagles had rescued us.”

Dwalin snorted and rolled his eyes at this.

“And you think that’s it, do you?” he barked. “You think that because you apologised for doubting him, he’ll forget all about what you said? You’ve not made peace with him, you’ve simply said you’re sorry for one part of your behaviour and not said a word of the rest. If he hasn’t said anything, it’s probably because this is the most amiable you’ve been for the entire sodding journey! The lad would never risk having the sharp end of your tongue turn on him again!”

“It matters not,” Thorin snapped. “Nor is it any of your business!”

“It is our business as long as Bilbo remains with this Company,” Balin hissed. “You’ve not seen fit to treat anyone else the way you’ve treated him. If now you’ve decided that he is indeed a worthy companion on this venture, then the matter of an apology will have to be brought up soon.”

A thunderous look settled on Thorin’s face, and he ground his teeth together as he glared at them.

“It is none of your business,” he spat. “Enough of this now!”

He stormed away from them, not seeing the wary and exasperated looks that followed him.

“ **We should have spoken to him earlier** ,” Dwalin grumbled, glaring after his friend. “ **All this did was increase the tension.** ”

“ **I know, brother.** ” Balin sighed and stroked his beard. “ **Double watch again, it seems. Bilbo doesn’t like the idea of going through the forest either.** **He’s nervous.** ”

“ **I’ll look after the Halfling, then** ,” Dwalin said firmly. “ **Stick close to His Royal Gruffness, brother. He’ll need your advice.** ”

 

The long trek through Mirkwood had been a disaster. It was not much of a comfort that it could have been worse – someone could well have lost their life. But overall, everything had been alright until they reached the enchanted stream they had been warned about. When Bombur had fallen asleep, the general mood of the Company had started to go downhill very fast. Dwalin had reflected sadly that carrying the fat dwarf’s weight was a poor replacement for the weight of full packs. And being caught by spiders and elves a mere few hours after Bombur had woken up again… Suffice to say that the one thing they all had agreed on had been that at least no one had died.

But it was frustrating, to say the least, to sit in a dark cell in the caves of the Woodland Realm without knowing where the others were and if everyone was alright. Dwalin had spent the first few hours attempting to find a way out. He had tested the strength of the door and its lock. He had examined the walls, the floor, and the ceiling. Not a single weak spot. He had to grudgingly admit that the elves weren’t half bad at keeping stone in good shape.

Once he gave up on attempting to break out, he found little else to amuse himself with than to taunt the guards when they brought him food. Most of the time, he sat on the small cot in the cell and stared at the opposite wall, muttering curses under his breath and trying to keep his mind busy. But no matter what he thought of, he would inevitably start to think of his friends again and wonder where they were.

One evening (or at the very least he assumed it was evening) when he sat there on the cot, he heard silent shuffling noises outside the door. He didn’t pay it much attention at first, assuming that it might be a rat. But then came the noise that made him jump up. A low thud and a creak.

“Dwalin? Dwalin, is that you?”

The dwarf stared at the door in shock. Hadn’t that been…?

“Bilbo?” The name slipped from his lips before he could stop himself. “Mahal’s beard, is that you, little burglar?”

For a moment he thought that he had finally lost his mind. But then he remembered the rescue from the spiders, and how Bilbo had told them of the ring he had found in the Misty Mountains.

“You’re wearing your ring,” he sighed. “Where are you?”

“Right here, by the bars,” Bilbo answered. “I had to climb up to see if someone was in here, but I can’t really hold on much longer.”

“Then jump down again, you fool,” Dwalin grunted. “I can hear you well all the same.” He moved over to the door as he heard another creak and a scuffling noise that he assumed came from Bilbo letting go of the bars and jumping back down to the floor. “Have you been sneaking around all this time?”

“Yes, though I am certainly growing weary of it,” Bilbo sighed. “I’ve been trying to find all of you. I know where Dori, Bofur, Glóin and Ori are, so far.”

“You’ve not found Balin, then,” Dwalin stated glumly. It was rare for the burly dwarf to have to worry for his older brother, but this particular circumstance had brought it out of him. “You’ve no idea where he might be.”

“Not as of yet, no,” the hobbit muttered apologetically. “I’ll try to find him next, I promise.”

It was a relief to know that the burglar had managed to keep from being tossed into a cell. As difficult as it must be for the small creature to find somewhere to sleep, not to mention something to eat, at the very least his freedom meant that there was a way for them all to communicate, however odd it would be.

It also meant that Dwalin could at least attempt to reach for some peace of mind.

“Have you any idea what might have happened to Thorin?” he asked. “Have the treeshaggers said anything?”

“I’ve heard the guards say something about another dwarf.” There was another silent thud and a scuffling noise; it sounded as if Bilbo had kicked the door and was now pacing back and forth outside the cell. “I just can’t figure out where they might be keeping him, or if it’s Thorin.”

“I doubt any other dwarves have been seen here for many years,” Dwalin muttered. “All the same, try to keep an eye out, will you?”

“I’ll do what I can.”

“Oh, and Bilbo?”

“Yes?”

“For Mahal’s sake, try to find somewhere safe to sleep. You’ll be caught easily if you stumble around like this.”

Bilbo let out a low huffing noise that may have been a laugh.

“I’ll let Balin know you’re alright when I find him, shall I?” he said softly.

“Aye, that would be appreciated.”

They said their silent goodbyes, and Dwalin listened intently for any noise when the hobbit scurried away. He was truly living up to his role as the Company’s burglar now, just as the wizard had said he would.

“ **Mahal’s hammer protect you, little one** ,” the burly dwarf murmured. “ **It looks like you’re our only hope now.** ”

 

To say that escaping from the Elvenking’s dungeons was nigh impossible was actually more or less correct. Sadly, whoever had decided that this was so had never met or counted with hobbits. When Balin had heard Bilbo’s voice by the door to the cell, followed by the clanking of keys, he understood that there must be a plan; but it was not one that the hobbit wanted to share just yet. Moving swiftly and silently through the dungeons, Bilbo freed one dwarf after another until they were all reunited. Thorin was the last to join them, and he gave the hobbit a proud look that had previously been reserved for his nephews and none other.

It wasn’t until they stood in the cellars, confused at the direction they had taken, that Bilbo had shared his plan with them. The dwarves had grumbled, Thorin most of all.

“I asked you to find us a way of escape,” the regal dwarf had growled. “A way out of this cursed place, not a way to drown us!”

Bilbo, however, immediately snapped back in frustrated indignation:

“Very well! Come along back to your nice cells, and I will lock you all in again, and you can sit there comfortably and think of a better plan! But I don’t suppose I shall ever get hold of the keys again, even if I feel inclined to try!”

Balin and Dwalin shared a quick look at this and had to turn away to hide their smiles. Thorin grumbled a while longer, and the others listened as Bilbo spoke to him.

“There is no other way, Thorin,” the hobbit said desperately. “I swear to you, there really is no other way. I’ve wandered around in these caverns for so long, and I’ve not found a single way out besides this. The gates seal by way of magic, and they will not open for anyone but the elves, as far as I can tell. And even if we made it to the gates, we’d have to pass all the elves without being spotted, which is not anywhere near possible! Please, this once you have to _trust_ me!”

“ **Said the magic word** ,” Dwalin whispered to his brother. “ **Think he’ll bite?** ”

Balin gave a small smile in response and watched as Thorin finally relented. With no small amount of reluctance, the dwarves climbed into the barrels. Poor Bilbo scurried around, trying to ensure that they would not get too beaten up inside the wooden tubs. It was only at the last minute that they were tipped through the hatch into the river, and over all the racket of the barrels slamming against each other they could hear the sound of guards coming down the stairs to the cellars.

And soon they were careening out of control down the river, chased by furious elves. In the midst of worrying about drowning, Balin thought vaguely of the indignity of it all. Often he caught sight of the hobbit clinging to a barrel somewhere, noting with pleasure that he had not been dragged below the surface of the raging river without reappearing.

When they finally reached a calmer area of the river and the elves seemed to have given up the chase, they paddled to the bank and crawled out of the barrels. There was a good deal of groaning when they helped each other out of the water. Balin watched as Dwalin hauled poor young Ori by the scruff of his neck and barked at the lad to get up. And then there was Bilbo, crawling out of the water on all fours, coughing and looking like a drowned rat. In a heartbeat, the old white-bearded dwarf was by the hobbit’s side, helping him to his feet.

“Mahal’s beard, lad, are you alright?!” In a flash, Dwalin was there as well. “Clinging to a bloody barrel, why didn’t you get inside one?!”

“C-couldn’t fit,” Bilbo answered with chattering teeth as the two dwarves carefully checked him over, looking for injuries. “And n-no other barrels.”

“You could have gotten crushed,” Balin said softly. “Forgetting yourself in the rush to get the rest of us out. Not your brightest moment so far.”

The hobbit gave him a shaky smile in response.

Thorin’s gruff voice cut through the air, calling for them all to get on their feet and get moving. Dwalin immediately let out a low growl, shooting his friend a glare. Balin glanced at him, sighing deeply and shaking his head. They did need to have a word with their oh-so-illustrious leader.

“Take a breather, laddie,” Balin said quietly to Bilbo, patting his shoulder. “It’ll be a moment before anyone is ready to go.”

The hobbit gave him a grateful smile and nodded. Without waiting a single moment, Balin and Dwalin walked straight over to Thorin.

“We need to keep moving,” Thorin said when they stood beside him. “We can’t risk being found here.”

“Aye, true enough,” growled Dwalin. “But we need a word with you, first.”

Thorin blinked, looking momentarily confused at the anger in his friend’s voice. He glanced at Balin, frowning at the cold look directed at him.

“Well, what is it this time?” he asked, crossing his arms as though attempting to shield himself from their anger. “And make it quick.”

“It’s about what you said back in the cellars,” Dwalin rumbled. “Is it true? Did you ask the lad to risk his bloody neck to find a way out?”

“I asked him to see what he could find,” Thorin snapped. “He was the only one not locked up in a cell, if you recall. If he took it as an order, then it is hardly through any fault of mine.”

“I’ll take that as a _yes_ ,” Dwalin snarled. “How out of your mind were you, Thorin? Yes, Bilbo was the only one able to move around, but he was exhausted and half-starved! He could’ve been caught at any moment, if not for sheer dumb luck!”

“And we needed a way out!” Thorin scowled at his friend. “I didn’t hear you complaining when we were being led towards the bloody cellars!”

“Because unlike you, Thorin, I trusted that he had a plan!”

The words were out before Balin could stop his brother from speaking them, and it seemed they hit their mark. Thorin jolted in surprise and stared at Dwalin, all hints of anger gone from his face.

“Though somewhat tactlessly spoken, Dwalin is right,” Balin sighed. “You don’t trust him, Thorin, not yet. No, don’t look at me like that. We know you, and we know what this was. A test.” The old dwarf stroked his wet straggly beard and gave Thorin a shrewd look. “You chose to test him when he had the expectations of the entire Company weighing on him, when he was exhausted and starving and becoming increasingly desperate. And upon being led into the cellars, you thought that he had failed.”

“I didn’t-“ Thorin began, but Dwalin cut across whatever he was about to say.

“Come off it, Thorin,” the burly dwarf snapped. “You were growling like a trapped dog, and you kept doing so until there was a clear way out with the river! Well, look where we are! We’re free, we’ve escaped, and it’s all thanks to Bilbo!”

“We have nothing,” Thorin answered immediately. “We’ve no food, no weapons-“

“No, that we don’t,” Balin agreed. “But how would you have expected Bilbo to take care of that without raising suspicion and being caught? Mahal’s beard, Thorin, look at him! He’s falling asleep on his feet, and he was nearly drowned and crushed several times!”

“All the more reason to get moving,” Thorin rumbled. “We all need rest, and it’d be best if that could be done in reasonable safety.”

Balin groaned in frustration and gave his brother a helpless look. Dwalin reached out, as though to grab Thorin’s arm, but the dark-haired dwarf stepped out of his reach.

“Enough now,” he said. “We need to go, before they catch up.”

He stalked away, heading straight to Bilbo to drag him onto his feet. Fili and Kili were eyeing their uncle with confused looks on their faces, and Óin and Dori sent Balin and Dwalin questioning looks.

“ **That** ,” Dwalin rumbled, “ **did not go according to plan.** ”

“ **Obviously not** ,” Balin muttered. “ **We must be careful, brother. There will be no small amount of pressure on Bilbo now, and with Thorin’s focus on how close we are…** ”

“ **Aye, you’re right**.” Dwalin sighed deeply. “ **I still don’t like it.** ”

“ **No, indeed. All the same, let us keep a close eye on them.** ”

 

Despite the opportunity to sleep in comfortable beds, to have new clothes and weapons provided for them, to eat warm good food again, Laketown had still felt like something of a nightmare to the sons of Fundin. Thorin was doing his best to ensure further assistance from the Master, a Man who reminded Balin a lot of some of the more oily nobles back in Ered Luin. And of course, tempers would flare every now and then. Whereas the Master seemed keen on the idea of acquiring more gold eventually, he was very hesitant about how much aid he should actually give the struggling dwarves. It was only after a good deal of grumbling that he had even agreed to give them proper weapons.

“How does he expect us to kill a dragon, then?” Dwalin had grumbled. “Throw rocks at it? Rip it apart with our bare hands?”

Upon leaving the town, the mood of the Company was subdued. They had the Mountain in sight, and all of them were thinking of what waited for them in its dark depths; all of them, except Balin and Thorin.

When they camped near the shore of the Long Lake that first evening, Balin attempted to keep up a conversation with Bilbo. However, his mind and his gaze wandered ever to the Mountain, and he eventually stopped responding altogether. He wasn’t certain of how long he’d been sitting there when Bilbo carefully shook his shoulder.

“Is everything alright, Balin?” the hobbit asked softly. “You looked like you were miles away.”

The old dwarf gave his friend a faint smile.

“I can assure you, I am quite alright,” he answered. “I am merely lost in memories, master Baggins.” He sighed and turned away from the Mountain. “I don’t remember that much, to be honest. I was very young when the dragon came. But I have vague memories of our home, of my mother and father…”

They were silent for a long while. Balin thought of the few things he could remember from those years; his father’s gruff voice, his mother’s laughter, the toys he’d had… Seven years old he had been when Smaug came to Erebor. Too young to remember much more of it than screams of fear, panic, and the heat of dragonfire. Too young to understand what was happening. He remembered clear as day how his mother had picked him up and fled with him in her arms, calling for her husband. He remembered how they had climbed the scorched hills and found Thorin and his siblings, how he had been ordered to stay with them and watched as his mother ran to find his father.

He had been plagued by nightmares of that day for many long years, and in some distant corner of his mind he envied Dwalin, who had been born two years later; born when they were wandering Middle-Earth, when they had to struggle to stay alive. He knew that envy made little sense, but when he in those years could barely close his eyes without seeing fire and hearing screams, he had felt justified in wishing that he were younger.

“It must have been terrifying.” Bilbo’s soft voice cut through his thoughts, and he turned his head to look at the hobbit. “I know I can’t possibly understand. All I had to suffer through was the Fell Winter, and that can never compare to a dragon invading your home.” The hobbit gave the old dwarf a wan smile. “And now you have to face that again.”

“It was terrifying,” Balin stated quietly. “And it still is. No one in Erebor was prepared to face a dragon. We thirteen are not better prepared. We have no plan, and hardly anyone truly knows what awaits us.” A small smile made its way to his face, and he placed his hand on Bilbo’s shoulder. “And yet you comfort me, Bilbo. It is a relief to know that someone _tries_ to see what we face. And that you try to understand, for all that you claim that you cannot.”

“What of Dwalin, then?” Bilbo asked carefully. Curious though he was, he didn’t wish to pry too much.

“What about me?” Dwalin asked gruffly, taking a seat beside them. “What are you two mumbling about?”

“Childhood,” Balin answered. “Dwalin was born two years after the dragon came, when we wandered in Middle-Earth.” He gave his little brother a soft smile. “I was very confused about why my parents were happy about having such a strange creature. A tiny red-faced thing who didn’t do much else than eat and sleep when he wasn’t crying.”

Bilbo snickered at that, and Dwalin rolled his eyes and reached out to swat at his brother; Balin leaned away, his smile becoming wider.

“Tell the truth, you were overjoyed to have someone to dote on,” Dwalin muttered. “You wouldn’t leave me alone for more than a few minutes at a time.”

“So this is why you two have been looking after me, then?” Bilbo laughed. “You like having someone to watch over?”

“It helps that you’re worse than Fili and Kili,” Dwalin pointed out, elbowing Bilbo in the ribs. “You’re ours now, and we’re keeping you. Might as well deal with it.”

“Yours, am I?” The hobbit snorted and grinned at them. “Am I a pet to be kept?”

“Don’t be silly,” Balin chuckled. “You’re our little brother, Bilbo. Of course we’d look after you.”

 

Though finding the secret door had taken them time, it was far from the hardest part of their mission. Once they had found the concealed little space where the door had to be, they could only devote themselves to waiting.

While the dwarves moved around on the mountain slopes to explore, Bilbo spent most of his time up by the door, staring either at the stone wall or towards the west. Sometimes he’d be joined by Balin and Dwalin, who would speak quietly to him and try to help him figure out what the words on the map had meant. Sometimes it’d be Thorin who sat beside him, telling him of Ered Luin, of Erebor in its glory days, of his sister – anything that seemed to come to mind.

But the sons of Fundin were always nearby. They were reluctant to let either their king or the hobbit out of their sight, especially not when the two were together. They took care not to be seen or heard, but tried to be close enough to be able to overhear the two speaking to each other.

This time was no different. Balin and Dwalin stood hidden behind the cliff that jutted out to hide the door. Just around the corner sat Bilbo and Thorin, speaking quietly to each other.

“No, see, it doesn’t matter how much I wander,” Bilbo was saying. “My home is and will always be in the Shire. I was born there, I grew up there.”

“You can live somewhere and still feel that your home lies elsewhere,” Thorin answered. “Hardly unusual. But I don’t see what would make the Shire so special.”

“It is peaceful, and it is bountiful,” Bilbo chuckled. “The people there don’t wish for much else than life’s small comfort. A warm hearth, good food, and good company. We don’t need more than that.”

“A king in the Shire must live well,” Thorin sighed.

“I know I’ve told you before, Thorin, we don’t have kings or queens,” the hobbit replied. “We have the three worthies of the Shire, the Thain, the-“

“The Mayor and the Master,” Thorin finished. “Yes, I know. But all the same, though you have lived in the Shire all your life, you could have a home elsewhere.”

They sat in silence for a while. Balin and Dwalin glanced quickly at each other; there had been a longing, nearly hopeful, tone to Thorin’s voice. The same tone he’d had for so many years whenever he spoke of Erebor.

“You would have a home here, if you should wish it,” Thorin said finally. “Once we have reclaimed the Mountain, I would ask you to stay for a time. As long as you’d like. You could still have your garden, and anything you would wish for.”

“I’ll have to go back to the Shire when all this is over, Thorin,” Bilbo sighed. “I shouldn’t have run off without a word in the first place. I’ll write, of course, and visit when I can. But I have to go back.”

“You wouldn’t want for anything with us,” the dwarf said softly. “Fili and Kili would miss you dearly, as would Ori, I’d wager. And the others. Don’t you want to stay?”

“Ask me again when it’s all over,” the hobbit answered.

It was silent again. Then, footsteps sounded, and Balin and Dwalin moved back to allow Thorin to pass. He paused when he saw them, eyeing them with a frown, but said nothing as he continued down the steep path.

Once the dwarf king had disappeared from sight, Dwalin stepped around the cliff, into the hobbit’s view.

“How often has he asked you that?” he asked gruffly. “It sounded like you’ve had that discussion before.”

“Every now and then since Laketown,” Bilbo answered quietly. “He’ll ask, then leave it be for a few days when I don’t give a straight answer, and then ask again.”

“Except you _did_ answer,” the burly dwarf insisted. “You said you’ll have to go back home.”

The hobbit didn’t reply right away. He sat in silence and stared out across the lands; there, far away in the west, the sun was setting behind the Misty Mountains.

“Would you want me to stay?” he asked quietly when they both sat beside him.

Balin smiled gently at him and placed a hand on his shoulder.

“Only if you wished to do so,” he answered. “Though I rather suspect you’ll be wanting to returning home.”

Bilbo sighed deeply and leant into the touch with a faint smile. He looked almost relieved to know that neither of his two friends would force him to stay if he didn’t want to, or chase him away if he did.

“We’ll write to you if you do return home,” Dwalin muttered. “Visit if we can. I’d wager that the rebuilding will take a long time, and we’d be needed here for a time. But as soon as possible, we’ll set out for the Shire.”

“Just let me know ahead of time, then,” Bilbo chuckled. “I’ll need to have my pantries stocked.”

“… Pantries?”

“What, did you think there’s just one? What sort of a hobbit do you take me for?”

 

The door had opened. Balin thought to himself that it had been nothing but a sheer miracle; most of the other dwarves had been ready to give up, to leave the Mountain and go home. As the sun set, they had all lost hope when no keyhole appeared. Thorin seemed crushed, speaking with a broken voice when he repeated what was written on the map. And Balin had told him that it was over.

Now he thought to himself that he had to learn not to be too quick in judging. Bilbo had figured it out. They had been on their way down the steep path when Bilbo had called for them to come back, calling that he knew what was wrong.

“ _The last light of Durin’s Day_ ,” the hobbit had shouted. “Not the light of the sun, but the light of the moon! It’s a riddle, a simple bloody riddle! Oh, my old da must be rolling in his grave! He would’ve figured this out immediately, he was always brilliant at figuring out riddles! It’s the light of the moon before midnight! I can see the keyhole! Everyone, come back up here!”

Many of the dwarves had nearly trampled each other in their haste to get back to the door, but Thorin, who had left last, made it there first. Without preamble, he had shoved the key into the keyhole and turned it. It clicked, and the door swung open.

Now they stood there, staring into the dark tunnel that stretched into the mountain. The silence that rested heavy over them might in some cases have been called reverent; to Balin, it felt more like the tense silence that surrounded one who tried to hide from certain death.

_Mother, father, where-_

The white-haired dwarf jolted out of his thoughts as his brother place a heavy hand on his shoulder. Dwalin gave him a thin, tense smile. Next to the burly dwarf stood Bilbo, pale and wide-eyed, giving Balin a long solemn look.

“We’re here,” he whispered. “Breathe, brother.”

As though wakened from a dream by the faint whisper, Thorin shook himself and turned to face his companions.

“Now is the time,” he said, his voice low and tense with something akin to excitement. “Now the time has come for our esteemed master Baggins to earn his reward.” He fixed his blue gaze on the hobbit. “It is time to do your duty.”

Bilbo drew himself up to his full height, seemingly shaking off his worry, and glared at the dwarf king.

“If you mean that it is my job to go into the tunnel first, Thorin Oakenshield, then say so,” he snapped. “I’m well within my rights to refuse. I’ve already gotten you out of two messes before that weren’t in the original bargain!”

“Do you refuse to perform the task you were hired for?” Thorin growled, his eyes narrowing dangerously. “Do you intend to break the contract?”

“I just might,” Bilbo answered waspishly. “You are piling everything on my shoulders, if you didn’t realise!” He paused, locked in a staring contest with the dark-haired dwarf. It was Bilbo who first looked away. “But, _third time pays for all_ , as my father said. Perhaps I shall honour the conditions of the contract. I’ll go and have a look. Will any of you come with me?”

The hobbit looked around at the dwarves. Of course, one could hardly believe that he had expected a chorus of volunteers, but Balin stepped forward and patted his shoulder.

“I’ll go,” he said. “At least part of the way, to call for help if necessary. Let us be quick about it.”

Silently they entered the tunnel. It was darker than the night in Mirkwood had been, but Balin and Bilbo held onto each other as they walked. The old dwarf shuddered as he was once again under Erebor’s heavy stone walls; he had never expected to return here. Even when he joined Thorin on his quest, he had thought that they would never make it. And yet, here he was, within her walls again and with the hobbit’s steady presence at his side.

“I’ll move as fast as I can,” Bilbo whispered to him, his voice echoing in the vast tunnel. “I’ll be back before you know it.”

“Be cautious, Bilbo,” Balin answered softly. “We cannot know what awaits down there.”

They said their goodbyes, and Bilbo slipped away in the darkness. Balin settled against the stone wall, listening intently for any sounds. From the door, he could hear the distant echoes of his friends’ voices. Further down the tunnel, he could hear the silent scuffling footsteps of the hobbit. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes.

_Mother, mother!_

_Father!_

_Fire, screams, panic!_

_Where? Where is father?_

_So much smoke, can’t breathe!_

_Can’t breathe, can’t breathe, can’tbreathecan’tbreathe_

Running footsteps made Balin jerk away from his memories, gasping for air as he stared into the darkness down the tunnel. How long had he been sitting there in silence, trapped in childhood memories?

“Bilbo?” he croaked. “Bilbo, are you there?”

A wheezing breath came by his side, and a hand patted his arm.

“’m here,” Bilbo gasped. “Need… Need a little… help.”

Choking back a sob of relief, Balin wrapped his arms around the hobbit and lifted him off the ground. Bilbo clung to him like a small child, allowing the dwarf to carry him back into the free air by the door.

“It’s alright, little brother,” he said softly, carefully pressing the hobbit’s small body to his chest; in a distant corner of his mind, he remembered his mother doing the same for him as she carried him out from Erebor. Her voice echoed in his mind, and he repeated her words. “Easy does it. Deep breaths, that’s it. We’re outside. Breathe, little one.”

 

There was a lot that had never been planned regarding their return to the Mountain. On the list was what exactly they would do about the dragon. There weren’t _that_ many stories of people who had successfully slain dragons, not without becoming grievously injured. Or killed, for that matter. Eventually becoming trapped in a dark tunnel with the only way out leading straight through the dragon’s lair was not in those stories.

Bilbo had apparently done quite well. Upon entering the dragon’s lair a second time, he had spoken to the creature and managed to get away alive. Most of the dwarves were of the mind that the hobbit had managed to save all of them from a certain death by convincing them to hide in the tunnel and close the secret door.

_Third time pays for all_ , Bilbo had said before going down the tunnel that first time. A third time he had gone that way, this time followed by the rest of the Company. But down in the grand treasure hall, they hadn’t found a dragon. With a deep joy, Thorin had led them all through the ruined mountain kingdom, moving swiftly and surely among the debris.

That had been several hours ago. Now, they were slowly making their way down from Ravenhill towards the front gates. The news of Smaug’s death had been brought to them by one of the ravens that lived among the cliffs, and though they were certainly joyous news, Balin and Dwalin found themselves silently discussing the other things the raven had said.

“ **The folk of Laketown will not remain on the shore of the lake** ,” Dwalin muttered. “ **Do you think Thorin has a plan?** ”

“ **I sincerely doubt it** ,” Balin answered. “ **You saw his face when he looked at the gold. I don’t see a good end for this.** ”

“ **And if Thranduil is on his way, things will not get better anytime soon** ,” Dwalin sighed. “ **What in Durin’s name do we do now?** ”

“ **As we must** ,” his brother said. “ **We will do our king’s bidding, if only because it is all we can do.** ”

They fell silent, watching as Bilbo passed by them and made his way to Thorin’s side, carefully tapping the dwarf’s arm.

“Must we truly go back?” the hobbit asked. “Could we not stay here for a time? I feel as though I’ve not been in the sun for months.”

“And leave Erebor for anyone to wander in without hindrance?” Thorin’s laugh rang out over the hills. “No, Bilbo, that’s not something I am keen on. We need to barricade the gate, and we need to start the search!”

“The search?”

“For the Arkenstone, of course!”

The sons of Fundin exchanged quick looks. Of course that would be Thorin’s first priority. There had been a moment just after the dwarves had dared to enter the dark treasure chamber when Thorin had seemed angry with the hobbit for not finding the King’s Jewel during his previous ventures. There was no doubt in either Balin’s or Dwalin’s mind that Thorin would do more than just lose his temper if the Arkenstone was not found.

Upon their return to the mountain, the dwarves immediately set to work on the ruined front gates. There was not much they could actually do about them, apart from gathering stone and building a wall. But a wall would be suitable enough. Bilbo was not much help in this, as he had not the skills nor strength required to actually move the stone, but he stayed nearby and fetched whatever the dwarves required.

“Thorin, is this really a good idea?” he asked nervously when the dwarf king stepped back to rest for a moment. Dwalin stood nearby, watching and listening. “The people of Laketown have lost their homes! Shouldn’t we offer them shelter?”

“I will not house thieves in my mountain,” Thorin snapped. “But it is not the Men I wish to keep out. The news reached Thranduil fast enough, and he is already on his way here. More than likely, he has assumed that we all lie dead in these halls.”

“So show them that we live,” Bilbo said. “But there is no need for hostility, is there?”

“Is this how the Shirefolk solve conflicts? By giving up whatever possessions the conflict rose over?” There was a distinctly mocking tone to Thorin’s voice as he spoke, and Dwalin saw how Bilbo deflated. “No, master Baggins, we do this as dwarves would.”

The king stalked off. Bilbo turned to Dwalin with a confused look on his face.

“What in the world has gotten into him?” the hobbit asked quietly. “What did I say that warranted words like that?”

“Do not take his words to heart,” Dwalin sighed. “He’s right – we do need _some_ form of defence, just in case. But the rest of that was uncalled for.” He stepped closer and laid a heavy hand on the hobbit’s small shoulder. “I’d say that he’s stressed. He knows that we don’t care if he’s got the Arkenstone in his keeping or not, but he’s about as stubborn as a mule. Won’t drag his mind out of the rule of his ancestors. That stone has been a family heirloom and the sign of the king since the days of king Thrain.”

“His father? But I thought-“

“No, lad, I mean the first of that name.” Dwalin rubbed one hand over his bald head with a thoughtful look on his face as he tried to recall everything Balin had taught him. “Let’s see here… It was when Durin’s line was driven out of Moria that Thrain I became king. He led our people during their wandering, and eventually they found their way north. He founded Erebor, see, and it was during his rule that they found the Arkenstone, if I remember right.”

Bilbo smiled faintly and nodded.

“I see,” he said quietly. “But if the stone has been the sign of the king ever since then…”

“You see why he’s eager to get it back,” Dwalin grunted. “It followed our people when they left the Mountain again to settle in the Grey Mountains to the north. And it came back with them when Thror led them back. It has been passed from king to king, from father to son. Thorin won’t truly see himself as our king unless he holds that stone.”

The burly dwarf looked at the hobbit again, and blinked as he saw a small smile on his face.

“Are you supposed to tell me these things?” Bilbo asked, with a twinkle of his old humour in his eyes. “I thought you dwarves guarded your secrets as well as you guard your treasures.”

“These aren’t secrets,” Dwalin snorted. “And besides, I won’t let my little brother remain ignorant of our history. Balin would never forgive me.”

Bilbo laughed, and seemed nearly surprised to do so. The short time that had passed since the door was opened had been so grim and had seemed far longer than it had truly been. Dwalin grinned at the hobbit and patted his shoulder again.

“Come now, master Baggins,” he said. “Chin up. Let’s finish our work here, and then we’ll see what we can do about the rest.”*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some of the lines are taken from the books and may in some cases have been slightly tweaked. Combining book- and movieverse seemed to work best for this story.


	3. Chapter 3

The days crept slowly forward, and with each new dawn it seemed that Thorin changed a little more. Balin could do nothing but watch with his heart slowly sinking as he realised what was happening. For so long, he had hoped that the goldsickness would not gain a hold in Thorin’s mind, but it seemed now that it was useless to hope.

Thorin forced them all to search every corner of the treasure chamber; he was desperate to find the Arkenstone, and he would hear nothing of the possibility that the jewel was not there. For each day, his mood darkened when the Company told him that they had found nothing. The only one who seemed to escape his anger was Bilbo. He kept the hobbit close at all times, and though his hackles would rise if Bilbo said the wrong words, he never raised his voice at him or judged him by his efforts.

The arrival of the elves and the lakemen only made matters worse. Thorin was furious at the presence of Thranduil, and though Bard asked time and again to treat with him, the dwarf king would not yield on is sole demand that the elves leave.

“I will not treat with thieves at my door,” he had shouted. “You came expecting to find us dead! Though I honour you for slaying the dragon, Bard Bowman, I will not treat with you and yours until the Elvenking leaves!”

The mountain had been declared under siege, and the dwarves found themselves pressed to find weapons and armour that would fit them well. The armoury was luckily still untouched; Smaug had been unable to move into that area, as it had been much too small for him.

While they all stood there, arguing amongst themselves over armour and weapons, Thorin suddenly rushed into the room; he had been down to the treasury again as soon as he had clad himself in the golden armour that had once belonged to Thror. In his hands he carried something that glittered like sunshine on water, and Balin felt his breath catch in his throat and grabbed his brother’s arm as Bilbo was called over to the dwarf king.

“Here, master Baggins,” Thorin said. “Take off that old rag and put this on.”

The hobbit blinked in surprise and eyed the item in the dwarf’s hands warily, almost as though it was a snake preparing to strike.

“What on earth is that?” he asked. “Thorin, I don’t need-“

“If it comes to battle, you must be well protected.” Thorin gave him a smile that was probably meant to be kind and calming. It fell short of its mark only because of the look in his eyes. He held up a glittering shirt of mail. “This, Bilbo, is _mithril_. True-silver. There is no armour in the entire mountain that can offer the same protection as this one shirt of mail. Light as a feather, and yet as hard as dragonscales.”

Dwalin made a strange noise, something between a growl and a hiss, and made to step forward. Balin tightened his hold on his arm to hold him back, but didn’t look away as Bilbo reluctantly looked up at Thorin.

“Then why give it to me?” he asked. “Surely there’s someone else who would need it more than me. Why not give it to Fili, or Kili? They are your heirs, aren’t they?”

Thorin gave a short laugh and shook his head.

“No, this one goes to you,” he answered. “Your services have been invaluable, and I would keep you safe. Put it on.”

With hesitant movements, Bilbo removed the frayed and singed jacket he had been given in Laketown, and with Thorin’s help he pulled the mailshirt over his head. It fit him as if it had been made for him specifically. The hobbit looked down on himself, frowning and picking at the metal rings.

“I look ridiculous,” he said quietly. “Thorin, is this really necessary?”

“Of course it is,” the dwarf answered, eyeing Bilbo with a strange glint in his eyes. “It suits you well.”

He turned away again to speak with his nephews, and Bilbo gave Balin and Dwalin a helpless look. The two dwarves quickly moved forwards, grabbed Bilbo by the arm and pulled him away from the armoury, ignoring the look their king sent after them.

“What in the world has gotten into him?” Bilbo asked weakly. “Why did he do that?”

“To ensure that you couldn’t refuse, I shouldn’t wonder,” Dwalin snarled. “It was safe enough that you only asked why he gave it to you and didn’t say no outright.”

“Safe? What do you mean?” Bilbo stared at the burly dwarf who had started to pace back and forth. “What have I missed?”

“Thorin should not have given you that,” Balin said quietly. He was pale and threw worried glances over his shoulder, hoping that Thorin wouldn’t suddenly appear behind them. “ _Mithril_ is not a gift given lightly, not among dwarves.”

“And not without consent,” Dwalin snapped, turning to his brother with fire in his eyes. “Why did you hold me back? He shouldn’t have done that! I should have stopped him!”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Balin sighed. “Dwalin, do you really think he would let that slide now? Mahal knows what would’ve happened if he had been rejected. He probably thought it would be a sweet gesture.”

“Sweet!” Dwalin scoffed. “The idiot’s had his head up his hairy arse for too long if he thinks that this is a sweet gesture!”

“What have I missed?” Bilbo repeated, a little louder this time. “Would either of you explain why you’re so angry? Why is _mithril_ not given lightly?”

The brothers looked at each other for a moment, and Balin sighed again and gestured wearily to Dwalin.

“You explain it,” he said. “I suppose a rant might do you some good.”

“To keep it simple, Thorin has made a rather big assumption in giving you that shirt,” Dwalin said quickly. “And he made sure that you couldn’t refuse without the rest of the Company asking questions or, as I suppose he saw it, finding it a dishonour.”

“But what assumption?” Bilbo sounded nearly desperate now. “What did he assume?!”

“That shirt is a courting gift,” Dwalin growled. “And he _knew_ that you had no idea of that. He bloody well _knew_ that you wouldn’t understand the gesture, and still he made sure you couldn’t refuse without being questioned! He made sure that the others would think that this has been discussed between you before, that you knew what you consented to!”

He stopped ranting as Bilbo let out a choked noise that sounded almost like a sob. The hobbit was pale and wide-eyed, and he leant heavily against the wall and slowly sank down on the floor, trembling all over.

“Courting gift,” he whispered weakly. “ _Courting gift_. I don’t… No, this isn’t… He hasn’t even asked if I…”

In a flash, Dwalin was at his side, kneeling beside him and gently tilting his head up to meet his tear-filled eyes.

“If you what?” he asked sharply. “Talk to me, Bilbo. _What_ hasn’t he asked you?”

“He hasn’t asked what I feel,” Bilbo answered quietly. “If I hadn’t felt anything… Dwalin, he would have tied me to him even if I didn’t…”

Something in Dwalin’s eyes softened, and he raised his other hand and trailed his fingers through the hobbit’s dirty golden-brown curls.

“But you do?” he asked. “You do feel something?”

Bilbo smiled weakly and nodded.

“I feel like a fool,” he sighed. “I feel like such an _idiot_. Somehow I love him, but I don’t know what to feel now. He has changed. And now I suppose he has tried to tell me that he loves me, if I’m to understand this _gift_ properly.” He looked at Dwalin, and the dwarf couldn’t help but think that he looked like a broken child. “What do I do? What on earth should I do? He has barely allowed me to leave his sight these past few days, and now he wants me tied to him for the rest of my life, whether I consent to it or not!”

“Oh, Bilbo.” Balin sighed deeply and fell to his knees beside him, pulling him into a tight embrace. “Let us speak with him. He may still listen to us.”

“Let us hope so,” Dwalin muttered, still stroking Bilbo’s hair as the hobbit sobbed against Balin’s shoulder. “Courage, little brother. We’ll bash some sense into him.”

 

Whatever madness had descended on the world, it was seemingly not something that may be affected by mortal hands. Balin and Dwalin felt nearly like trapped animals, unable to leave their master without being severely punished.

They had shouted and raged at Thorin, who had finally reached for his sword and warned them not to say another word of their malcontent.

“You cannot know what my Halfling feels or thinks,” he had snarled. “Stay your tongues, or I’ll have them removed!”

Poor Bilbo, on the other hand, seemed oddly determined. He had kept to himself as much as he could, though Thorin was rarely far away from him.

“There is something I have to do,” he said when Balin asked him. “I can’t tell you what, not now, but I can promise you that Thorin won’t like it. You’ll find out soon enough.”

Barely even two days later, Balin had overheard Thorin speaking quietly to the hobbit.

“Bombur was supposed to keep watch until midnight,” the dwarf had said. “Yet Bofur says that his brother slept then. Would you know why?”

“I couldn’t sleep,” Bilbo had answered, his voice steady and calm. “So I told him to rest, since he was tired, and I took his watch instead.”

There was a hint of doubt in Balin’s mind, but as the king seemed pleased enough with the response, he didn’t ask. But later the same day, Bard and Thranduil rode once again to the gate to speak with them. There was a strange confidence in their behaviour, and Balin found himself watching Bilbo more than the Man or the Elvenking.

“I bade the elves depart,” Thorin called to them. “And still they have not done so! Until they are gone, returned to their forest, you come in vain to bargain with me!”

“Is there nothing, then, for which you would yield any of your gold?” Bard asked him.

“Nothing that you or your friends may have to offer,” Thorin scoffed.

“Not even the Arkenstone of Thrain?”

The words caught the Company off guard. In the stunned silence that followed, Bard reached inside a pocket and took out the brilliant stone. It shone like a star in his hand even in the sunlight, and Balin could scarcely believe his eyes. He blinked and rubbed at his eyes and stared again at the stone; somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew what had happened.

Thorin, however, growled. His face twisted with rage, and he clenched his fists.

“How came you by the heirloom of my house?” he roared. “That stone belonged to my grandfather and my ancestors, and it belongs to me! How came you by it?”

A small frightened voice answered him.

“I gave it to them.”

Balin felt as though someone had dumped icy cold water over him. Bilbo had stepped forward. The hobbit trembled, but stood straight and proud before the furious king, holding his gaze.

“I gave it to them, Thorin,” he repeated. “I found it some time ago, and I didn’t dare to give it to you. Smaug said that if I gave it to you, I would have to watch as it drove you mad, and now I can see that he was right. And you never even laid hands on the stone!” He took a deep breath, steeling himself for what he was about to say. “You are changed, Thorin. The dwarf I met in Bag End would never have gone back on his word. The dwarf I left my home to follow could have left me to die before we even reached the Misty Mountains, but he never did! That dwarf was ten times the king you are now, and he would never value a _shiny rock_ over the lives of his kin!”

At those words, Thorin lunged at him and grabbed the collar of his shirt, lifting him high into the air with a roar.

“You miserable rat!” His voice shook with rage and rang out over the slopes of the mountain. “You thief! How dare you! You would steal from _me_?!”

With a loud cry, Dwalin leapt forward to try to make Thorin put the hobbit down. Bilbo shivered and squirmed in his grasp, even as he was held over the edge of the battlements. The hobbit briefly met Dwalin’s gaze and shook his head.

“I was going to give it to you,” he shouted back, trying to be heard over the cries of the other dwarves as they clutched at the arms of their king. “I would have given it to you, but you were not yourself!”

“Do not lie to me,” Thorin snarled. “No more lies! Curse you, you wretch! And curse Gandalf for his choice of you! May his beard wither! As for you, _Halfling_ , I will throw you to the rocks!”

Bilbo winced and closed his eyes. But before Thorin could release his hold on the hobbit’s collar, Gandalf’s voice boomed from the gathering below the wall. Balin turned his head, relief washing over him as he saw the well-known grey-clad old man step forward with his hands raised.

“Stay, Thorin Oakenshield,” the wizard cried. “Your wish is granted! If you do not like my burglar, at least do not damage him! Put him down, and let him speak!”

“You are all in league,” Thorin roared, but he did as the wizard asked and hauled Bilbo back onto the battlements and dropped him. “What have you to say, then, you descendant of rats?!”

Bilbo shook as he looked up at the dwarf king, and Balin felt something twisting in his gut at the sight.

“I have said what I needed to,” the hobbit stuttered. “But you remember that you said I could choose my own fourteenth share? Perhaps I took that too literally, judging by your reaction, but let the stone stand against my claim! Please, I beg of you, let it go at that!”

“You’ve said your piece,” Thorin snarled. “Now get out of my sight! Go and join your friends, if they would have you, before I throw you down!”

Balin and Dwalin wasted no time in putting themselves between Thorin and Bilbo as the hobbit shakily got to his feet. Dwalin kept his eyes on Thorin, but Balin gazed sadly at Bilbo and touched his shoulder.

“Go,” he said quietly. “And hurry.”

They found a rope, and soon enough Bilbo was on the ground beside Gandalf, gazing sadly up at his friends.

“Farewell,” he called to them. “I hope we may yet meet again as friends!”

“Leave,” Thorin shouted back. “And be glad that I have not reclaimed the mail you wear! No blade or arrow can pierce it, but if you do not get out of my sight, I will sting your miserable feet!”

“We shall keep the stone until tomorrow,” Bard called to the dwarf king. “You have until then to bring forth from the treasure hoard the share to set against the stone! If this is done without deceit, we will depart and the elves will go back to the forest!”

And so they left. Balin stared miserably after them, keeping his eyes on Bilbo; the hobbit glanced over his shoulder with a sad look on his face, but didn’t hesitate to follow Gandalf.

“It is done, then,” Glóin stated glumly. “I will go and see about the ransom, shall I?”

“No,” Thorin said immediately, turning and glaring at them. “No, don’t. Dáin will be here soon. We won’t need to pay them anything. We wait.”

He left them, striding down the low steps from the wall and storming back into the mountain.

 

Balin and Dwalin watched in mounting despair as armies clashed in the valley before the mountain. They were as safe as they possibly could be behind the wall they had built, but what would happen once it was over? Who would be left standing?

“This is ridiculous,” Dwalin snarled, pushing away from the wall and starting to pace back and forth. “We should be out there! We can’t just leave them like this!”

“It is not our choice,” Balin said softly. “What difference would we make?”

“We have friends down there,” Dwalin shouted. “Friends and kin! Dáin can’t win this alone! The elves and lakefolk will flee if they see the tide turning! There are too many orcs for them!”

“Again, what can we do?” snapped Balin. “As you say, brother, there are too many! We would not make a difference!”

“Bilbo is down there!” Dwalin stopped and glared at his brother. “Are we just going to leave him to die? Say what you will, but he could not have escaped a force that large! Not in less than a day!”

Balin shivered. In his mind, he saw Bilbo laying still on the battlefield, pale and wide-eyed with blood trickling from the corner of his mouth. He shook himself and glared back at Dwalin.

“So speak to Thorin, then,” he said. “What else is there?”

He had meant for those words to quell Dwalin. Not to spur him into action. But Dwalin spun on his heel and marched off into the mountain.

He knew exactly where he would find Thorin. There were two places that the delusional dwarf had spent time in lately – one was the treasure chamber, and the other was the throne room. He chose the latter, knowing that the throne had become nearly as much of an obsession as the treasure itself. And sure enough, there on his throne sat Thorin, clad in the golden armour and rich furs. He looked so much like his grandfather that Dwalin was nearly convinced that he looked at a younger Thror.

“Since when do we abandon our people?” he asked loudly when he approached, seeing how Thorin blinked and looked up at him in confusion. “Since when do we leave others to fight our battles for us? Thorin, they are _dying_ out there!”

Thorin did not seem to hear him properly. He looked thoughtful as he got up, and his eyes seemed to be locked on something far away.

“There are many hidden places beneath this mountain,” he said slowly. “Many places we can shore up and fortify, make safe… Yes. Yes, that’s it. We must move the gold to safety, move it further underground.”

“Did you not hear me?” Dwalin asked. His voice had lost some of its sharpness. “Dáin is surrounded. They’re being slaughtered, Thorin. It’s a massacre out there.”

“Many die in war, and life is cheap,” Thorin answered absently. “This treasure… The treasures of my fathers cannot be counted in lives lost. It is worth all the blood we can spend.”

Dwalin watched him for a moment in silence. He wanted to be angry, wanted to be disgusted with his cousin’s callous disregard for the lives of their kin. For the life of Dáin. For the life of _Bilbo_. But all he could feel was a deep sadness and pity. When he spoke, he spoke so quietly that it seemed a miracle that Thorin could even hear him.

“You sit here in these vast halls with a crown upon your head,” he said slowly. “And yet, you are lesser now than you have ever been.”

Those words seemed to cut through the haze in Thorin’s mind. He straightened, though he swayed where he stood, and levelled a hazy glare at Dwalin.

“Do not speak to me as if I were some lowly dwarf-lord,” he said, his voice soft and menacing. “As if I were still Thorin Oakenshield. I am your king!”

Dwalin nodded calmly.

“You were always my king, Thorin,” he said quietly. “You used to know that once.” He eyed the dark-haired dwarf before him, swaying like a drunkard and clutching the hilt of his sword. “You cannot see what you have become.”

Thorin unsheathed his sword, stumbling as he tried to raise it to his cousin’s throat. Dwalin didn’t move from the spot, watching him calmly.

“Go,” Thorin hissed. “Get out. Before I kill you.”

They stood in silence again. With tears rising in his eyes, Dwalin turned away and left the great hall. As soon as he was out of sight and earshot, he broke into a run. It wasn’t far to the gate, but he had to move, had to do _something_. Physical exertion had always helped him in the past when he needed to distract himself. The distance was not enough. Too soon he had to slow down, and he strode out towards the wall and threw himself down beside his brother.

“He refuses,” he said flatly. “He barely acknowledges that his kin is dying in defence of his kingdom.”

“This has gone too far,” Balin sighed.

“Too far?” Bofur shouted, getting to his feet. “We shouldn’t be waiting here! Sod what Thorin says! We need to be out there!”

“Watch your tongue,” Dori snapped. “He is still your king!”

“Bilbo could tell what was happening,” Kili said darkly. “He knew what uncle would do. And he was right, wasn’t he?”

“We can’t stay here,” Fili grumbled. “Whatever uncle says, we need to go.”

“Bilbo is out there,” Bombur said; though it was rare that the fat dwarf spoke at all, he normally had everyone’s eyes on him when he did. “Bilbo is out there with only that little letter-opener and a mailshirt for protection. He might well be dead, for all we know.”

“He is not dead,” Balin snapped. “Durin’s beard, have a little faith for the lad!”

“And how are we supposed to know?” Ori yelled, jumping up from his seat. “How are we to know if Bilbo lives or not? Or Dáin, for that matter? We are shut in here, when we should be fighting out there! I am not a warrior, but Mahal knows I don’t want to stay in _safety_ while our hobbit is out there!”

“We won’t make a difference,” Nori answered his younger brother. “Have you seen how many orcs there are out there? Not to mention those elves would probably happily put arrows through our skulls!”

So they argued back and forth. When the argument finally died down, many of them had tears in their eyes. There was little to nothing that they could do. But as they looked up, they saw suddenly Thorin emerging from the shadows of the Mountain. He stood straight and sure, looking as though a great weight had been lifted from his shoulders. He had cast off armour and furs, and wore no more protection now than a coat of mail. Dwalin’s eyes widened as he watched him. This was a dwarf he recognised. Gone was the hazy frenzied look, gone was the unsteady gait. It was Thorin Oakenshield himself who stood before them now, sword and shield in hand.

“Uncle!” Kili had leapt up and strode towards Thorin. The young prince looked furious. “I will not do this! I will not hide behind a solid wall of stone while others fight our battles for us! It’s not in my blood, uncle! I can’t do it!”

Thorin gave his sister-son a soft smile. Kili looked confused.

“No, it isn’t in your blood, sister-son,” Thorin said slowly. “We are sons of Durin, and Durin’s folk do not flee from a fight.”

He turned to look at the others. They were all on their feet now, weapons in hand and waiting for what they knew would come.

“I have no right to ask this of any of you,” Thorin said. “But will you follow me, one last time?”

“Enough with the ceremony, laddie,” Balin groaned. “My beard withers the longer we wait, and I am not getting any younger! Do you have a plan?”

Thorin looked taken aback at first. Then he smiled again, and he looked decades younger.

“Not really,” he admitted. “But if I am to go to the Halls of our Fathers, I will not have them ashamed of me. We will join the battle, and we will try to turn the tide, though we are few in number.” A laugh escaped him. “We were insane enough to march on a dragon-infested mountain. A few orcs are nothing in comparison.”

“A few?” Dwalin repeated with a snort. “Mahal wept, now you really have lost your mind.”

“Afraid, are you?” Thorin smirked at his friend. “Scared of the big, bad orcs, son of Fundin?”

“Shut your mouth,” Dwalin growled, “and tell us what you want done.”

 

All things considered, the battle could have gone much worse. There were many injured and many dead, but nowhere near as many as had originally been feared. Of Thorin’s Company, six were injured. Bombur had nearly lost his left foot. Bofur laid delirious in the healers’ tents, poisoned by an orcish blade. Glóin had somehow managed to break not only three of his ribs, but also his right arm. And then there were Thorin, Fili and Kili, who had nearly lost their lives in the battle. Thorin had fallen first, pierced through the gut by a wicked blade, and Fili and Kili had both been speared as they defended their uncle. They lived, though it had been far too close.

When the orcs had been routed and the work to find and aid all the injured had started, Balin and Dwalin immediately began their search for the missing member of the Company. They had not seen Bilbo during the battle, though they had on good authority from Gandalf that the hobbit had been close to Thranduil. The Elvenking himself had not been able to confirm it.

“If he was anywhere near us,” he said coldly, “then I never saw him. Some of my archers claim they heard him cry out on the southern slopes, but that is all I know.”

The day was nearly out before Bilbo was found and brought back to them. A Man of Laketown had been up on the southern spur of the Mountain and managed to locate the poor hobbit, who had apparently only just woken up after lying unconscious and hidden behind a large boulder. He was immediately brought to Óin, who examined him carefully and declared that though he had taken a nasty knock to the head and would need to take it easy for a while, he would be quite alright.

“You’ve got a hard skull, lad,” the old healer told the hobbit. “But I’d still recommend that you rest a lot and try to be careful with food and drink. Stick to broth for now. It’s probably not what you hoped for, being out of the Mountain and all, but I won’t take any chances. Head injuries can be worse than they seem.”

Bilbo could only smile weakly at him.

It had been nearly a week before Óin dared to state that Thorin and his nephews would probably be alright. The healers would need to keep a close eye on them and watch for any possible signs of infection, but other than that everything seemed to be in order. Poor Bilbo had nearly wept with relief when he heard the news.

“It was a close thing,” Dwalin told him when they sat down for dinner, Bilbo cradling a bowl of watery broth in his hands. “Thorin didn’t have a plan beyond going out into the battle to stir things up a bit. It was enough, I suppose, but I don’t know what we would’ve done if they had died.”

“Perished,” Balin answered. “Lady Dís would have killed us herself for not looking after them.”

“Speaking of perishing,” Dwalin said, watching Bilbo closely. “Thorin has asked for you, lad. Several times. Becoming right insufferable, he is. A whiny bloody mess that won’t stop asking where you are.”

The hobbit kept his gaze on the bowl of broth.

“Does he seem sane, then?” he asked casually. “Or his he still stark raving mad?”

“About as sane as he can be,” Balin said gently. “Will you speak with him?”

Bilbo sighed deeply, but would not look up. He had received the same question in the days before, and he didn’t quite know what to say. But now, he seemed to finally have made a decision.

“I want to speak with him,” he said. “I just don’t know what to say. Things changed in the Mountain. And then he tried to kill me over a shiny rock.” He finally looked up at them when he heard them chuckle. “Don’t laugh, I mean it. It’s a shiny rock, and that’s it. It’s fit for nothing more than a magpie. They like shiny things.”

“I believe Thorin wishes to make amends,” Balin said, trying to steer the conversation back on the right track. “It’s difficult to believe, I know, but he’ll want to hear your voice, even if you only speak to tell him that you want nothing more to do with him. At least it would be some form of closure.”

“But what do I say?” Bilbo asked softly. “’I’m sorry you nearly died, but you were an idiot’? I don’t really think that’s what he wants to hear.”

“You’re not supposed to talk to him to tell him what he wants to hear,” Dwalin said, groaning with exasperation. “Durin’s beard, lad, do you think this is about him? He has asked for you, but it is _you_ who decide what will happen! You alone decide if you’re going to talk to him at all. You alone make the decision about what you tell him.” He patted the hobbit’s shoulder. “You’re a clever hobbit, but sometimes you’re so dim that I wish I could smack some sense into you, little brother.”

“Who says you couldn’t?” Bilbo asked, raising an eyebrow at him.

“Óin. He gets vicious about his patients.”

The hobbit chuckled quietly before seemingly drifting off in thoughts. They allowed him his silence and ate their meal, waiting for him to speak or move again. Finally Bilbo sighed, downed his broth and smiled at them.

“I’ll need to think about it,” he stated. “If he asks for me again, could you tell him that? I will speak to him, but I just… I need to figure out what I actually want to say.”

It took another week before Bilbo had made up his mind. Balin and Dwalin considered themselves lucky to have been just outside the tent where Thorin laid when the hobbit suddenly marched past them without noticing them and straight into the tent. The two dwarves glanced at each other, grinned and leapt up, hurrying over to the opening to spy on the conversation. They carefully looked inside and saw Thorin staring at Bilbo in a dumbfounded silence, and Bilbo standing before the cot with his hands on his hips.

“I actually thought they exaggerated how severe your wounds were,” the hobbit stated after a while. “You look awful. What were you actually thinking, going into battle without proper armour?” When he didn’t receive an answer, Bilbo sighed deeply and ran his fingers through his hair. “You are an absolute fool. You could’ve died, and then where would everyone be?”

“Dáin would have been king,” Thorin said quietly. “A far better king than I.” They stared at each other for a good while before Thorin sighed deeply. “Bilbo, I… There are some things I need to…”

“Need to what?” Bilbo asked. He still hadn’t moved closer to the cot, still stood there with his hands on his lips with a look on his face that spoke of more scolding in the dwarf’s imminent future. “Need to _make amends_? What can you actually say that will help?”

“I don’t know,” Thorin snapped. “I don’t know what I could say! But at least let me-“

“Words can’t make up for your behaviour, Thorin!”

“What do you want me to say?” Despite his injuries, and despite Óin’s strict orders, Thorin pushed himself up until he sat and glared at the hobbit. “I’m sorry! I know you won’t forgive me, but I am sorry! I’m sorry for ever dragging you away from your home on this, this _suicide mission_ , and I’m sorry for treating you like _baggage_ , for treating you like you were worthless, I’m sorry for not giving you the respect you deserved! I’m sorry for nearly killing y-“

Bilbo lunged forward and clamped one hand over Thorin’s mouth. The dwarf tried to push him away, but Bilbo simply reached out with his other hand and pinched his ear.

“And now, if you might listen to me for a moment,” Bilbo said softly. “I do have some things to say to you as well.”

Thorin glared at him, but didn’t attempt to shove him away again. The hobbit raised an eyebrow, steadily meeting the dwarf king’s glare until he nodded.

“Why, thank you.” Bilbo smiled calmly and released him. “Now, then. As I said, words can’t make up for your behaviour, Thorin. You hurt me, and you hurt me _badly_. Words will never be enough to make me trust you again.”

“I-“

“No, don’t interrupt me! I am not finished! Look here. You were an absolute _arse_ from the moment you stepped over my doorstep. You didn’t even attempt to behave better until we reached Beorn’s home. And even then, you would not acknowledge that you may have hurt me before.”

They fell silent again. Balin and Dwalin glanced at each other with raised eyebrows. They knew that the hobbit had a good deal to berate Thorin for, and the right to do so. He had a lot more to say than he’d made clear so far.

“But, it won’t really help to drag all this up again,” Bilbo sighed, making all three dwarves blink in surprise. “So, I propose that we start over from scratch.” The hobbit smiled. “As though we never knew each other, that is.”

Thorin stared at him. The poor dwarf looked hopelessly confused as the hobbit held out his hand.

“Bilbo Baggins of the Shire, at your service,” said the hobbit politely, chuckling when Thorin didn’t move. “This is when you shake my hand and introduce yourself, you big lump.”

The dwarf hesitated before carefully taking the hobbit’s hand.

“Thorin Oakenshield, at your service,” he said slowly. “And I don’t see what purpose this would serve.”

Bilbo chuckled.

“Words won’t help,” the hobbit answered. “So I ask that we try to start over. You have apologised, and I am grateful for that. Truly, I am. But I need you to change how you used to behave. If I am to trust you again, you have to show me that I can do so.”

Balin and Dwalin grinned at each other. Perhaps not what they had expected, but certainly a good start. They snuck away from the tent.

“Best leave them be for now,” Balin said calmly. “I suppose they’ll have a lot to discuss.”

“Let’s hope so,” Dwalin muttered. “And let’s hope Thorin doesn’t cock this up.”

 

Balin hummed cheerfully to himself as he walked through the passageways of Erebor, carrying a small box in his hands. They had managed to make a good deal of progress in only five years; perhaps not quite as much as they would have liked, but enough to be able to house the dwarves of Ered Luin. Some parts of the Mountain were still unstable and barred by fallen rocks and caved in corridors, but those areas were mainly close to the treasury. The dragon had done a lot of damage there.

But it was not the progress that had Balin in such a good mood. There was something taking place in the Mountain today that would change quite many things. Most of the things to change would be tradition. Several of the old lords from Ered Luin had raised complaints, only to have Balin very kindly tell them that naturally all their claims would be considered, but if they had any further complaints they really should take it up with the rest of the King’s Company, surely they would want to hear everything. That normally shut them up. No one wanted to argue with the dwarves who had travelled with Thorin to reclaim the Lonely Mountain.

Dwalin waited for him outside one of the chambers in the royal quarters. The burly dwarf grinned at him and turned to knock on the door.

“Ready or not, we’re coming in,” he called, and threw open the door without waiting for an answer.

Bilbo stood in the middle of the room, with his back to a large mirror and with an exasperated look on his face. He was dressed in dwarven finery, in the blue of the line of Durin. Lady Dís, Thorin’s sister, marched around him, eyeing him critically and making clucking noises.

“Balin, what do you think?” she said immediately when they entered. “There is something missing, isn’t there?”

“I am wearing everything that was laid out for me,” Bilbo muttered. “Dís, I promise you, there is nothing missing.”

“Hush, you.” The dark-haired dwarrowdam turned to Balin and raised an eyebrow. “Well, cousin?”

Balin smiled warmly and held up the box.

“I have it here,” he said. “I took the liberty to change it for something else. You know the ones who chose these clothes for him, they are very set on something traditional.”

Bilbo groaned loudly.

“You can’t expect me to wear that horrid thing,” he said sharply. “I simply won’t do it, Balin! It was not made for a hobbit’s head!”

“If you’d listen before you object, you’d know what’s in the box,” Dwalin said calmly as he pushed the door closed. “It’s not the circlet they brought out from the treasury. We had it made especially for you.”

Balin opened the box, and before Bilbo even got the chance to peek inside, Dís stepped in the way to take a look. She hummed thoughtfully, tilting her head to the side, and finally nodded her approval.

“It will suit him well,” she said firmly, and so carefully lifted a golden circlet from the box. It was adorned with emeralds, all set in the shapes of oak-leaves, and it looked to be just the right size for Bilbo’s head. Dís gently put it on him, and took a step back to look him over again. “Exquisite work. It fits perfectly.”

“Did you measure my head when I was asleep?” Bilbo asked, raising an eyebrow at the sons of Fundin. “Because I swear that if you did-“

“Never mind that, lad,” Dwalin said, grinning broadly. “Go on and turn around and take a look.”

“Dís has barely allowed me to look at all,” the hobbit snorted. “I’m certain I look ridiculous.”

“Nonsense,” Dís huffed. “You look wonderful. Now take a look, you silly thing.”

Bilbo rolled his eyes as he turned around, eyeing his reflection critically. He smoothed his hands over the clothes, picked at the fur-lined cloak and carefully raised one hand to touch the circlet.

“You look very handsome,” Dís said, giving the hobbit a rare soft smile. “It is perhaps not what you would have wished to wear, but I must say that master Dori did an excellent job.”

Bilbo turned around again and sighed.

“I suppose I cannot convince any of you that the cloak is too much,” he said, giving them a pleading look. “I still say it will become too warm.”

“Keep it on for the ceremony,” Dwalin said firmly. “You can remove it later.” Then he snorted and grinned again. “Well, it will be removed later whether you want to or not, I suppose.”

Without even glancing at him, Balin reached out and smacked his brother over the back of his head.

“Ignore him,” he said. “But you can remove it once the ceremony is done.”

“I’ll leave you three to it,” Dís said. “I must go and see if the boys are ready.”

Balin waited until the princess had left the room before quickly stepping forward to pull Bilbo into a tight embrace.

“Look at you,” he laughed. “Did you ever expect to be dressed in any finery except your own?”

“I didn’t expect to be back here for a long time,” Bilbo answered, chuckling softly as he spoke. “I thought it would take at least ten years before anything would happen.”

“I’m glad it didn’t.” Dwalin groaned and shook his head. “Could you imagine? Thorin would have gone batty by now and tried to abandon all duties to go and find you in the Shire.”

“Now, don’t be ridiculous.” Bilbo grinned at the burly dwarf. “He would never have reached the Shire, he gets lost too easily.”

Dwalin didn’t smile back, however. He eyed the hobbit thoughtfully, eyes raking over the clothes and the circlet. He looked more like a dwarf than a hobbit now

“Are you truly certain about this?” Dwalin asked finally. “You know that no one has the right to force you.”

“Honestly, Dwalin,” Bilbo sighed. “You’ve asked me that at least ten times each week over the past two months! Yes, I assure you, I do want to go through with this. I have thought about it, I have managed to come up with every possible excuse to _not_ do this. Fili and Kili actually helped me with some of those. But here I am.” He grinned again. “Besides, did you really think that I would still be here if I didn’t want to? Do you really believe that any of you could have stopped me from leaving, then?”

The large dwarf nodded and patted his shoulder.

“Just let us know if something’s up,” he grunted. “I’d rather not have the past repeat itself.”

“Well, that would depend on which part of the past it is.”

“The battlements, then. I don’t want to see that again.”

Bilbo smiled and took his hand.

“I know,” he said quietly. “But really, if something happens, you will know. I will go to you and Balin immediately.”

“You’d better,” Dwalin grumbled, pulling the hobbit into a hug. “Slightest notion something’s not right, you come to us. If one hair stands on the back of your neck-“

“I will not do anything unless I _know_ something’s wrong, Dwalin.”

Balin chuckled softly and shook his head.

“Enough now,” he chided. “Let’s go, before Thorin starts thinking that you’ve run off.”

They left the room. The two dwarves walked on either side of Bilbo, leading him through the passages.

“Nervous?” Balin asked as they approached their goal. “You look a little pale.”

Bilbo gave him a quick smile.

“I never thought I would actually… Well…” He hesitated, frowning slightly. “I didn’t think I would find someone who wanted me at all. In the past, it’s always been for my home, or for my inheritance. Never because of… Well, _me_.”

“Hobbits really are backwards, aren’t they?” Balin mused, grinning as the hobbit smacked his arm in retaliation.

They finally came to a stop outside the throne room. Bilbo took a deep breath to steady himself; he still looked slightly pale.

“You’ll be fine, lad,” Dwalin said gruffly. “I’d say Thorin’s more nervous than you are.”

“Liar,” Bilbo mumbled.

“No, look at me.” Dwalin stepped in front of him and leant down, gently knocking their foreheads together. “You’ll be fine, little brother. He loves you. And as you’ve been so keen on pointing out lately, he is trying very hard to be worthy of you.”

“You’ll never think he’s worthy of me,” Bilbo answered, closing his eyes with a soft smile. “You were the one who cornered him and told him you’d shave his hair and beard if he hurt me again.”

“Aye, and I _will_ do that,” Dwalin said, smiling kindly as he straightened again. “It’s a promise.”

“Courage, little brother,” Balin chuckled, repeating Dwalin’s gesture and pressing his forehead against Bilbo’s. “We’ll be right beside you.”

The hobbit nodded and took another deep breath. Balin and Dwalin resumed their positions on either side of him, and a moment later the doors opened and they entered the grand hall. It looked like the entire kingdom was there. But there, standing before the throne, was Thorin, dressed in finery similar to Bilbo’s. He wore the crown on his head, and he looked more like a king now than the sons of Fundin had ever seen him. His eyes locked on Bilbo, and he smiled, bright and carefree.

A little bit of joy for the line of Durin, at last.

**Author's Note:**

> I started working on this back in March, after a discussion with my girlfriend about Balin and Dwalin possibly being quite protective of the Company's burglar. I had intended for the story to be maybe... 8000-9000 words long at most. I ended up with more than double that. The fic ran away from me, and still I hope you enjoy!


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